"Not, bad Fifine," she laughed, as the night air swept in on her feverish head, "we'll get _le beau Bijou_ yet. He'll say Fifine is mad, but we'll see--Fifine is not mad--she hates him though, and she will kill him, ha! ha!" She walked about chattering wildly, holding Sailor by his collar, and saying senseless things to him every now and then. At last, when she had gone a long way without being able to discern a path, she sank down to rest near a clump of trees. Twining her arms round Sailor's shaggy neck, she laid her head on his warm body and soon fell into a heavy dreamless slumber. CHAPTER XXV. Yes! there are real mourners--I have seen A fair, sad girl, mild-suffering; and serene. --Crabbe. The gray of the morning was stealing out from behind the tree-tops, filling the woodland with a dim uncertain light. The tall spectral forms and great crouching figures of the darkness, now proved to be the limbs and broken trunks of gigantic trees. With the misty light of the morning all the ghouls and goblins of the night left the lonely forest and retreated to their secret abodes until dusk would come again. A cold cheerless change was coming over the earth and two equestrians trotting silently through the wood, at this early hour, shivered and shook in the raw air of the morning. They spoke very little. The elder one was smoking, the other was looking moodily on before him. Presently the former stretched himself far on one side of his horse and thrust his head enquiringly forward. He took his pipe from his mouth and looked again. "Philip, my son, what do you see there?" "Where?" the other asked indifferently. "Inside those twisted trees."